Poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

  • 651.  
    If you saw a lion
    Not within a cage, Would you tease and fret him
  • 652.  
    All through the Castle of High-bred Ease,
    Where the chief employment was do-as-you-please, Spread consternation and wild despair.
  • 653.  
    Sitting alone by the window,
    Watching the moonlit street, Bending my head to listen
  • 654.  
    I want more lives in which to love
    This world so full of beauty, I want more days to use the ways
  • 655.  
    I am the Voice of the Voiceless
    Through me the dumb shall speak Till the world's deaf ear be made to hear
  • 656.  
    I saw two youths: both were fair in the face,
    They had set out foot to foot in life's race; But one said to the other, 'I say now, my brother,
  • 657.  
    What do you think Red Robin
    Found by a mow of hay? Why, a flask brimful of liquor,
  • 658.  
    If I should die, to-day,
    To-morrow, maybe, the world would see Would waken from sleep, and say,
  • 659.  
    Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great,
    How bitter and how black must be your self-invited fate, While Time goes down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate!
  • 660.  
    Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast;
    In all earth's devious ways, I sought for rest And found it not. I will be strong, said I,
  • 661.  
    Sometimes I feel so passionate a yearning
    For spiritual perfection here below,
  • 662.  
    Who is a Christian in this Christian land
    Of many churches and of lofty spires? Not he who sits in soft upholstered pews
  • 663.  
    The day will dawn when one of us shall hearken
    In vain to hear a voice that has grown dumb. And morns will fade, noons pale, and shadows darken,
  • 664.  
    I called to the wind of the Winter,
    As he sped like a steed on his way, 'Oh! rest for awhile on thy journey,
  • 665.  
    The sun rode high in a cloudless sky
    Of a perfect summer morn. She stood and gazed out into the street,
  • 666.  
    Beside us in our seeking after pleasures,
    Through all our restless striving after fame, Thorough all our search for worldly gains and treasures
  • 667.  
    When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed,
    Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain, I call on Reason to control my brain,
  • 668.  
    The longer I live and the more I see
    Of the struggle of souls towards the heights above, The stronger this truth comes home to me---
  • 669.  
    By the castle-gate my lady stands,
    Viewing broad acres and spreading lands.
  • 670.  
    I think that the bitterest sorrow or pain
    Of love unrequited, or cold deathâ??s woe, Is sweet, compared to that hour when we know
  • 671.  
    Think of it, think of it over the water
    Thousands of men to-day march on to death, Think how the sun shines on fields red with slaughter-
  • 672.  
    Our Motherland, dear Motherland,
  • 673.  
    If I were a raindrop, and you were a leaf,
    I would burst from the cloud above you And lie on your breast in a rapture of rest,
  • 674.  
    Do you remember the name I wore â??
    The old pet-name of Little Queen â?? In the dear, dead days that are no more,
  • 675.  
    If any line that I ever penned,
    Or any word I have spoken, Has comforted heart of foe or friend -
  • 676.  
    The flowers have tender little souls
    That love, rejoice, aspire. Each star that on its orbit rolls
  • 677.  
    On the white throat of useless passion
    That scorched my soul with its burning breath I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion
  • 678.  
    Though critics may bow to art, and I am its own true lover,
    It is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over. Though smooth be the heartless prayer, no ear in Heaven will mind it,
  • 679.  
    In the old wars of the world there were camp-followers,
    Women of ancient sins who gave themselves for hire, Women of weak wills and strong desire.
  • 680.  
    The New Year dawns again upon the earth,
    And all our land re-echoes with its mirth. From east to west, from north to south, we hear
  • 681.  
    Why sit ye idly dreaming all the day,
    While the golden, precious hours flit away? See you not the day is waning, waning fast?
  • 682.  
    Sir Knight of the world's oldest order,
  • 683.  
    There was a little comet who lived near the Milky Way!
    She loved to wander out at night and jump about and play.
  • 684.  
    Where have they gone to-the little girls
    With natural manners and natural curls; Who love their dollies and like their toys,
  • 685.  
    Back of each soldier who fights for France,
    Aye, back of each woman and man Who toils and prays through these long tense days.
  • 686.  
    What is the end of each man's toil,
    Brother, O Brother? A handful of dust in a bit of soil-
  • 687.  
    How terrible these nights are when alone
    With our scarred hearts, we sit in solitude, And some old sorrow, to the world unknown,
  • 688.  
    A humble wild-rose, pink and slender,
    Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet, Beside a Jacqueminotâ??s royal splendour,
  • 689.  
    Were I man grown, I'd stand
    With clean heart, soul, and hand, An honor to this land.
  • 690.  
    I left the farm when mother died and changed my place of dwelling
    To daughter Susieâ??s stylish house right on the city street: And there was them before I came that sort of scared me, telling
  • 691.  
    If all the end of this continuous striving
    Were simply to attain, How poor would seem the planning and contriving
  • 692.  
    The world was widowed by the death of Christ:
    Vainly its suffering soul for peace has sought And found it not.
  • 693.  
    Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play?
    'What play?' Why, this old play of winning hearts!
  • 694.  
    The harsh King--Winter--sat upon the hills,
    And reigned and ruled the earth right royally. He locked the rivers, lakes, and all the rills--
  • 695.  
    We must not force events, but rather make
    The heart soil ready for their coming, as The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,
  • 696.  
    Friend of my youth, let us talk of old times;
    Of the long lost golden hours. When "Winter" meant only Christmas chimes,
  • 697.  
    I dreamed a Voice, of one God-authorised,
    Cried loudly throâ?? the world, â??Disarm! Disarm! â?? And there was consernation in the camps;
  • 698.  
    The sweet young Spring walks over the earth,
    It flushes and glows on moor and lea; The birds are singing in careless mirth,
  • 699.  
    You who are loudly crying out for peace,
    You who are wanting love to vanquish hate. How is it in the four walls of your home
  • 700.  
    If all the ships I have at sea
    Should come a-sailing home to me, From sunny lands, and lands of cold,
Total 702 poems written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poem of the day

 by James Macpherson

After an address to Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, Ossian proceeds to relate his own expedition to Fuà¤rfed, an island of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuà¤rfed, being hard pressed in war by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronto (who had demanded in vain the daughter of Mal-orchol in marriage,) Fingal sent Ossian to his aid. Ossian, on the day after his arrival, came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him prisoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter, Oina-morul, to Ossian; but he, discovering her passion for Ton-thormod, generously surrenders her to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.

As flies the inconstant sun over Larmon's grassy hill so pass the tales of old along my soul by night! When bards are removed to their place, when harps are hung in Selma's hall, then comes a voice to Ossian, and awakes his soul! It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me with all their deeds! I seize the tales as they pass, and pour them forth in song. Nor a troubled stream is the song of the king, it is like the rising of music from Lutha of the strings. Lutha of many strings, not silent are thy streamy rocks, when the white hands of Malvina move upon the harp! Light of the shadowy thoughts that fly across my soul, daughter of Toscar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the song? We call back, maid of Lutha, the years that have rolled away! It was in the days of the king, while yet my locks were young, that I marked Con-cathlin on high, from ocean's nightly wave. My course was towards the isle of Fuà¤rfed, woody dweller of seas! Fingal had sent me to the aid Mal-orchol, king of Fuà¤rfed wild: for war was around him, and our fathers had met at the feast.

In Col-coiled I bound my sails. I sent my sword to Mal-orchol of shells. He knew the signal of Albion, and his joy arose. He came from his own high hall, and seized my hand in grief. "Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king? Ton-thormod of many spears is the chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He saw and loved my daughter, white-bosomed Oina-morul. He sought. I denied the maid, for our fathers had been foes. He came with battle to Fuà¤rfed; my people are rolled away. Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king?"


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